Take Out the Stitches
by CravenJester
Summary: A new guardian awakes after centuries of death to a world forged in light and bathed in dark. Can he face the loss of everything he knew? Everything he was? Can he handle the truth about what he is, and what he has to become? A familiar tale begins to unfold... but first, he must take out his stitches.
1. Prologue

Take out the stitches

 **Alright, so I'm fairly new to all this, so I'm not quite sure what to put here... I don't own Destiny. I suppose that'll do...**

 **If you see any mistakes, please let me know. If you liked it, please let me know. I may do a part two. If you have any ideas... Well, why not tell me and I'll consider them. For now, though, I'm just going to do what I want.**

* * *

The wind whistled through the rusted husks of old cars and rustled the tall, dry grass on the hill. A faint whirring carried on the sharp wind, and an inhuman roar careened over the snowy, rocky landscape.

"Is it possible?" asked a quiet voice, as the whirring grew louder. "There you are." A bright flash of blue obscured all, for just an instant, and a body could be seen silhouetted, dark against the light.

...

Cal's eyes shot open, and he gasped for breath. He hurt all over. His legs and arms felt like they had been split apart, his chest was burning, and his head felt like it had a thousand angry wasps all clamoring to get out. He rolled onto his side and huddled his body into a fetal position.

"Guardian? Eyes up guardian"

"Ugh," he moaned. _Who was speaking to him?_

"It worked, you're alive! You don't know how long I've been looking for you." The voice spoke in a monotone that sounded strange to Cal's ears.

He propped his arm up beneath him, forcing himself to his hands and knees, only now noticing the rough dirt and snow under him.

"How did I get here?" He grunted. A drum was pounding in his head and he had needles behind his eyes. "I don't remember getting drunk enough for this..." The cold was helping to numb his pain, but he still stumbled as he rose slowly to his feet. As he righted himself, he searched for the speaker his eyes squinting in the bright daylight. Cal didn't remember daylight ever being so bright. "Wh-where are you?" He asked. Then he saw it. A small white _thing_ with a bright blue eye at its center, there was no other way to describe it, was hovering at about eye level and speaking to him.

"What..."

"I'm a Ghost. Well actually, now I'm your Ghost, and you... Well you've been dead a long time, so you're gonna see a lot of things you won't understand."

Cal's head throbbed. Dead? How could he have been dead? After all, he remembered... What did he remember?

Another roar rang out, much closer this time, and the Ghost gave a small start. Cal just stared at the machine floating before him.

"This is fallen territory. We aren't safe here, I have to get you to the city."

The Ghost began to float away and Cal started after it, but then stopped as the ghost said "Hold still," and vanished.

Cal was lost. He didn't know where he was, what he was doing, how he had gotten there, and the only thing that had seemed to have any answers had vanished on the wind. He cast about, vainly searching for a trace of where the machine had gone.

The Ghost's voice gave company to the pounding in his skull. "Don't worry, I'm still with you. We need to move. Fast. We won't survive outside in the open like this. Let's get inside the wall."

"Great. Moving." Cal panted with the exhaustion of simply standing.

Cal hadn't seen the huge rusted wall before, he was so wrapped up in his situation he couldn't begin to think about his surroundings, but with the guiding voice of the ghost, he could finally take it all in. He was standing at the top of a small rise that lead down to a graveyard of old dead cars and a small body of still water, despite all the wind. The wind was something he hadn't fully noticed before, but now that he was standing, he became victim to its full effects. The buffeting forces almost knocked him to the ground, and the cold pierced him to his core causing him to grip his arms tightly to protect himself from the chill.

Cal shivered and stumbled forward. He had hurt something awful before, but never anything quite like this. At first, he needed to rest his weight on the cars, the rust staining the palms of his gloves a reddish brown, _Where did the gloves come from?_ but after a time he felt that he could support himself enough to try standing alone. The first steps were rough and his feet dragged, but after only a short while he found his footing and started forward at a steady, albeit slow, pace.

The wall was bigger than he had at first thought, a few hundred feet high at least, thought it may have been more. Cal was no good with distances. The wall was dark inside, so dark in fact that Cal thought he might fall if the Ghost the ghost hadn't sprung into existence beside him and projected a light for him to see.

The Ghost's voice sounded from his side. "Ok... I need to find you a weapon before the Fallen find us." _The Fallen? Who were the Fallen?_

Muffled rumblings sounded through the corridor, a sound not dissimilar to the denting of metal. "Quiet," the Ghost whispered. "They're right above us."

Cal grumbled to himself.

He crept onwards, trying to stay silent while venturing further into the murky depth of the ruin, though his shuffling steps could only be quieted so much. Movement caught his eye, a small glimmer of light. Something was inside the walls. Cal shifted uneasily.

"What was that?" He asked in a hushed rasp.

"Fallen," said the Ghost. "Dreg most likely. They do like the walls."

"Great. _They're_ in the walls. Who are _they_?"

"The Fallen"

"Oh, that helps, that really helps. Y'see, that phrase means _a lot_ to me."

"Hang tight." The Ghost said as they reached a great, dark, atrium. "Fallen thrive in the dark, we won't. We need more light. I'll see what I can do."

"Thrive in the dark? What kind of people are these _Fallen_ anyway?" Cal's voice resonated in the large metal catacomb. His footsteps clanked against the rusted metal grating at his feet

"Another one of these hardened military systems... And a few centuries of entropy working against me."

"Hello? I'm asking questions. They seem important to me, at least."

The Ghost floated out over the abyss and into the metal guts of the decayed facility, taking the light with it.

"Wait... Come back... Don't leave me back here. All alone. In the dark..." Cal trailed off.

Then the lights switched on and Cal could clearly see the inhuman forms swarming over the piping of the wall, and the Ghost being pursued drones the colour of dry blood.

"They're coming for us!" Yelled the Ghost across the now clearly light chasm.

Cal stood there, his dismay no longer an act. A metal gate rattled open to the side and the Ghost called out to him, " Here! I found a rifle! Grab it."

Cal needed no encouragement, he ran through the gate and snatched the battered old rifle up off the ground. He glanced at the pile of bones beside it. "Well. Better me than you, I suppose."

"I hope you know how to use that thing."

"Are you kidding me? You didn't think of that before you revived me?"

"Resurrected. And no, your ability to wield light was much more important at the time than combat expertise."

Cal continued past the crumbled remains of the rifle's last owner and down a long industrial hall. Alien shadows danced at the far end.

"Watch for motion on the tracker," instructed the Ghost, and Cal's eyes snapped up to the corner of his vision as he proceeded down the long hall.

Dripping water was the only sound to be heard in the corridor aside from the scraping of his boots on the rough floor.

"Shit. It's not saying anything." Cal hissed into his helm. "Are you sure this thing works?" His foot splashed into a puddle.

A four-armed figure unfolded from the ceiling and landed neatly on the floor directly in Cal's path. He stumbled backwards, slipping in the puddle at his feet, and tightening his grip as he landed. His gun gave a loud response, emptying its magazine down the hall with two or three shots hitting his target. Then he heard a click, and the creature began to stir.

"What do I do now?" Said Cal in a breathy tone.

It grasped at its side, blood leaking from between its fingers.

"Pull the lever at the gun's side." With a click the gun's magazine popped out. A new mag appeared in Cal's hand and he jammed it into the slot.

The thing began to rise to its feet, trembling with the effort.

Cal pulled the trigger. Nothing.

"What now?" He hissed.

"Pull it again!"

The alien raised its gaze and its gun to Cal with shaky hands, then a click and the sound of a single shot and it fell backwards, dead.

Cal slumped backwards, water soaking into his padded robe.

"Is that it? I won!"

"You won that one."

"Great. Well, next time maybe the thing will work."

"What thing?"

"The tracker thing."

"It tracks movement, not your enemies. It was working."

"Well that really helped me out, didn't it?"

"Get up. You're getting wet."

"Yeah. Wouldn't want to catch a cold."

...

"Oh man. That was way too tough," exclaimed Cal from the pilot's seat.

"Alright. Inputting the tower's coordinates now. We should be there shortly," stated the Ghost from his side.

"Wait? After all that, I don't even get to fly this thing?"

"Can you?"

"… I'll just wait."

"It won't be long. For a centuries old piece of golden age technology, this thing can still move."

"How long exactly?"

"We'll be there any minute."

Cal sat and waited, the thrum of the ship's engine lulling him into a sense of security and relaxation. After all he had done, Cal thought he'd earned it. An image flickered to life on a viewscreen in front of him.

"What's this?" He asked.

"We're arriving."

"Already?"

"Just... watch."

Storm clouds. Rain pelted the sides of the ship and Cal was surprised he hadn't noticed it before. Lightning arced through the sky, splitting and dancing atop the mountains. They hurtled through the maelstrom, the ship careening past the rocky tips of the mountains and through the bulkhead of the storm to find... Serenity. Peace. Cal stared in awe at the presence hovering above the last city. Its sight filled him with boundless hope... but also a deep sadness. The beauty of the form was marred by the long dark gashes and rough, shorn metal stemming from the wound at the base of the sphere.

"What is it?" Gasped Cal.

"That is the Traveller."

"I've never seen anything like it..." He trailed off.

Cal and the ghost waited in silence for a moment, just letting the majesty of the orb sink in. When they arrived, Cal landed almost gracefully.

"Welcome to the last safe City on Earth. The only place the Traveller can still protect."

"It's huge," said Cal, gazing down at the mass of colourful, bloxy buildings.

"It took centuries to build. Now... we're counting every day it stands. And this Tower is where the guardians live."

"They certainly are a colourful bunch."

"Come. We need to get you to the Speaker. He'll want to know a new Guardian has arrived." Said the Ghost, and floated off with Cal not far behind.

"Who's the Speaker?" He asked.

"You'll see soon enough."

"Great. It seems like every time I ask a question you just brush it off. Hello?"

The Ghost floated onwards through a short tunnel to an open paved courtyard. Cal stepped in a puddle.

"Just my luck." He grumbled and trudged forward.

...

Coming back from the speaker, Cal still had no answers. He'd finally gotten to someone wo might be able to explain how he'd gotten into this mess, and all he got was some cryptic nonsense hinting at answers but never delivering anything but more to ask. Still, some of it had been useful, and Cal finally thought he might be able to figure it out amidst the fog of uncertainty.

"I think I finally understand something now. So, the Traveller was found on mars and then we brought it back to Earth and used its technology to usher in this _Golden Age_? It's just my luck to have completely missed that."

"Well, that's basically right, but you are leaving out some major details. You've completely left out the colonisations and the collapse and-"

Cal cut in "Well I was getting to it..." But trailed off. "Hey. I think I know that person."

"What? How could you possibly-" but the Ghost was cut short again as Cal pushed his way past a couple civilians and headed straight for a guardian in deep blue armour. They had a long dark cloak wrapped around their shoulders and a helmet cradled under their arm. They laughed with what appeared to Cal to be some sort of higher up in red and white with a strange headdress.

"Lucy? Hey! Lucy Noble!" Exclaimed Cal, removing his helmet as he approached.

The Guardian turned her head. "I'm sorry, who are you?" Blonde locks framed her face.

"It's me, Calder! Calder Evertson? Don't you remember me? We went to school together! I remember... I remember this one time, I filled your locker with frogs, and when you opened it up, they all spilled out and started hopping everywhere, and you screamed so hard I thought my eardrums might burst, then you turned around and slapped me so hard I couldn't walk straight for a week. I think I ruined your gym shoes, so I guess I deserved it. God, it's good to see a familiar face around here."

"Calder? Is that really you?" Said the guardian, blushing. "I'm sorry, I didn't know it was you... you just look so... different." She stammered.

"Oh yeah. I got a haircut. You know how I used to wear it long. I guess I thought it might make me look more mature, but..."

"That's... great," she said, looking away.

"What's wrong? You don't like It, do you. No, I don't blame you. It never really suited me that well."

"Don't like it? No, it's not that..." She trailed off.

"What is it then? Come on tell me?" Said Cal with a short chuckle.

"You really don't know. Do you?" She asked. Pity was in her eyes.

"Know what?" Asked Cal, hesitating.

Abruptly, she reached forward and pulled off his glove. His hand reflected a shiny crimson in the sunlight. He recoiled from its sight.

"What-" he muttered, breathlessly. He turned and stumbled away. Distantly, he was aware of his name being called. _His hand. What was wrong with his hand?_ He tripped over a loose cobble, and fell to his hands and knees before the puddle. He gazed down into it, and piercing, bright green eyes stared back up at him, unblinking.

He stared at the reflection for a while, not moving. Not thinking. He reached up and touched his face, and felt metal fingers scrape against it. He shook for a moment. Then he grasped the plate under the bright green eye and began to pull. _He had to be under there._ He was not expecting pain, but it was there all the same as he continued to tear the metal. The plate began to separate, but all that was behind was dark machinery. A jagged, mock-mouth grinned up at him, unmoving.

"What happened to me..." Moaned Cal, lowering his hands from his face and looking around.

The Ghost floated to the side, silent.

"What happened to me!" He yelled.

"There was nothing of you left. Only the light. I couldn't recreate your physical form from nothing, so, I pulled from the surroundings. Spinmetal, minerals, the rust on the cars... Anything."

Cal looked to Lucy. She stood to the side, the hood of her cloak raised, clutching it about her.

"What about her?" He asked. "She's here. She's the same."

"I donated my body to science during the golden age. When my ghost found my light, it was with my remains, which were preserved in a Golden Age vault," she replied.

Cal didn't know what to do. He stayed kneeling, staring ahead. His mind was drifting.

"I need a drink," he muttered.

"I don't think you can drink anymore," said Lucy.

The courtyard was silent for a long time.

Cal broke the silence. "I need to kill something," he spoke and rose to his feet.

"Steady there Calder," said Lucy. "You aren't looking too good."

Cal stared at her, his searing green eyes burning into her cool blue.

"I didn't mean it that way. I just... I think you should-"

"I don't ever want to see you again," he said, his voice drained of emotion.

"… Calder-"

"LEAVE!" He screamed. Birds took flight from nearby roosts. Silence fell yet again. She turned and strode quickly towards the Speaker's tower, her cloak billowing behind her, her footsteps clacking loudly on the paving stones.

A robotic voice chimed in. "That was-"

"You," Cal hissed. "You made me this way. If I were not bound to you, I would destroy you for what you've done to me."

A wind whistled through the yard. Calder turned and strode away towards the main atrium.

"Where are you going?" Whispered the Ghost as it trailed after him. Calder said not a word.

* * *

 **So. What'd you think? I hope you liked it. I certainly enjoyed getting it out into the open. I had this really good Idea that I wanted to write about, y'know? It's just... Something about losing all the comforts of the flesh seemed so ripe for a character. Honestly, if I lost the ability to eat, sleep, drink, have sex, piss, any of it, I'd go mad. So, I really wanted to get to that in this part, in case I don't do any more. But, I really felt like I had to ground him, make you understand him, if even a little, so that when he makes the realization that he's no longer human, you can empathize with him. The only problem is that if people don't read to the end, my fic is just another "This is my guardian" story.**


	2. The Warlock

**Hey. I decided to make a part two. I hope you like it. I sure did. Oh yeah, and thanks to the people who read and took the time to write a review. It's nice to know that some people appreciate my hard work. Once again, if you feel like leaving a reply, criticisms, suggestions, anything, just let me know. I might just do a part two.**

 **Also, Destiny in no way belongs to me. I just play the game.**

* * *

Joan had expected to have the Cosmodrome to herself, but there he was all the same. The Warlock had been in her spot for the last hour, taking pot shots at the fallen, his battered rifle's shots careening off the rocky landscape. He wasn't very good. He'd managed to hit a few overconfident dregs that had wandered from cover, but other than that, he might as well have been shooting at thin air. Still, he kept at it, determined to take the fallen to their grave.

He seemed so focused... An evil idea wormed its way into her mind, and she grinned evilly under her hood. She crept forward slowly, placing each foot carefully, so as to not step on the dry brush that populated the area. A faint wind stirred her furs.

He was close enough now that she could see the dints and scratches that adorned his helmet. It was a pitiful sight. His robes weren't much better. They had once been fine, she noted, a deep, rich crimson, but neglect and the passage of time had made them more brown than red, and the hem was tattered and torn. It was odd, but the obvious wear of the gear fit perfectly with the surroundings, making him seem almost as though he were a permanent fixture. It was then she noted with surprise that he wore no bond. A warlock without a bond? Strange times indeed…

She was right behind him now. Ready. Waiting. "Hey!" She announced in a clear, loud, voice.

The Warlock spun, his reflexes whip quick, quicker than she had thought, and, before she had time to react he emptied the rest of his magazine into her belly. Her shield deflected the first few rounds, but the rest of the volley penetrated her flesh, ending her life. The Warlock stood over her dead form and watched her, still tensely holding his rifle. A minute passed in silence.

A sharp gasp ushered from her mouth, and she shuddered from the shock of the resurrection.

"Ow..." She moaned, pressing a hand to her stomach. "What was that for?"

The Warlock grunted and turned back to his targets, sliding a fresh clip into his gun, the barrel still smoking.

"Hey," She said. "I'm talking here." The Warlock Ignored her. "Is anyone home? You shot me!"

"It was your fault. Please leave me alone."

"I'm sorry, my fault? How was that my fault? _You_ shot me! And get out of _my_ spot!"

"… Your spot?" The Warlock's tone was strangely regretful.

"Yes! Yes, it's my spot! It's good for target practice..." Her voice dwindling to a near-squeak.

"Hrmm..." He slid the gun onto his back. "I'll leave."

"What?" She asked, confused at how easily he'd given up. "W-Well... Thanks. You still haven't apologized for shooting me," she added reproachfully.

"Sorry for shooting you." He grumbled and trudged off towards the old Skywatch.

"Weird," she muttered, turning to look back the towards the fallen only to find that they had, in the intervening time, marshaled a band of pikes that were now speeding towards her location. "Oh, great," she turned and ran after the Warlock, just now climbing the hill that lead to the entrance of the old facility.

While normally Joan wouldn't have thought twice about facing a pack of pikes, she'd just been brought back, so she thought that maybe she should give it a pass. Just this once. Besides, even she would find trouble with the sheer quantity that she was faced with. What was it, like eight? Nine? Yeah nine. Turning and running at full tilt, her cloak whipping behind her and furs ruffling, Joan scrambled up the hill that lead to the Skywatch, her once wounded abdomen still sending her the reminder of a wound now gone. That was when she noticed the second weird thing about the Warlock.

As she crested the rise, she immediately noticed the two dead vandals both riddled with bullet holes, and the Warlock's gun discarded to the side, spent casings littering the ground around it. Then she saw the Warlock and the Captain. The Captain bled profusely from the stumps of where three arms had once been, the blood shimmering in the noon sun. The last arm was in the process of being violently torn off the Captain's struggling form, the Warlock twisting it in his grip as he pressed down on the Captains chest with his foot until the tendons ripped and bone splintered.

Joan watched with an odd combination of horror and fascination as the Warlock strode calmly from the ruined corpse of the Captain to retrieve his battered rifle, his robes stained with the dark blood.

"What the fuck," muttered Joan under her breath. The drone of the pikes was getting louder. She ran after the strange Warlock, but more importantly, the refuge of the ruined golden-age facility. The Warlock stopped and cocked his head, seeming to take notice of the pikes' high-pitched quivering. He turned to face them, the first of which had just turned the bend in the old path that lead up the hill. He raised his gun. Joan, seeing this, hurtled forward, and, as she passed the Warlock, grabbed him by the collar, and pulled him back towards the metal and concrete sanctuary.

"What are y-"

"Look. I know you think you can take them, but I've seen you shoot," said Joan as she dragged him back. The pikes were almost close enough to unleash their electric hell. "Come on if you don't feel like dying today. I've already had my fair share." She winced again at the phantom of pain in her stomach.

The Warlock, almost dejectedly, turned, and ran the last few meters to safety as the pikes released a volley of thunder and death into the mouth of the long dead facility.

...

Joan took a moment to catch her breath. The warlock just stood tall and straight. Joan hadn't really noticed the Warlock's stature before, which was strange, since he overtopped her by at least a foot and a half. While Joan didn't consider herself to be exactly short, she still didn't quite match the size of most people, and by her judgment, neither did the Warlock.

"What is this place?" He grumbled, gazing around at the dimly lit interior.

"Hmm? Oh. This place used to be the old skywatch, here in the Cosmodrome- Aren't you going to thank me for saving your life?"

"No," he said, and then just under his breath, "Why can't I ever just get a real answer…"

A few moments passed in silence.

"I think we should keep moving," said Joan, straightening herself and dusting herself off.

"Why?"

"Those pikes outside? They're probably still there. I don't think we should go out to meet them, and I don't really feel like waiting here for the rest of the day."

The Warlock seemed to think for a moment. "Fine," he growled, and his boots scraped off the rough concrete floor.

"I'll take the lead then," she said as the Warlock brushed passed her, his rough robe rustling in the dead air. "Or you could." She quickly began to follow.

Another long stretch of silence settled as they trekked through the Skywatch, the only sound, the shuffling of their feet on the ancient floors. They passed several fallen torches and supply caches.

"Keep an eye out," she whispered. "Could be fallen here."

"Hmm," he grunted.

They crept forward, edging their way along, alert for any signs of enemy movement. And then there it was. A small blip on her radar.

"You see that?" She hissed. "We've got movement ahead. Get ready for a fight."

"I thought you didn't want a fight."

"What? Look, this is different."

"Is it? The way you went down..."

Joan ground her teeth. "Just let me do the shooting, okay?"

The marks on the radar were closer now. Just through this opening.

She peeked around the corner and appraised the situation. Two dregs. Easy. She signaled to the Warlock. Two targets. He nodded, then she rounded the corner, took aim, and the first dreg's head exploded with her hand cannon's report, it's soul evacuating its corpse. She turned to the other, ready to fire, and watched as the Warlock grabbed it and slammed its head into a long out of order computer station. It didn't die immediately, so the warlock slammed its head into the console again and again until its head was nothing more than a scrap, and its soul oozed from the wreckage.

Joan stood in silence. The Warlock seemed to still himself. He appraised the room. "Dead end."

"Not... Not quite," she said, warily stepping around the dreg's corpse. "This looks like a door."

"It _looks_ sealed shut."

"I can fix that," she said and summoned her ghost. She pushed it outward and it began to scan the control panel on the wall with short bursts of light. The Warlock stepped back.

"The fallen appear to have sealed this gate," her Ghost explained. "Looks like they didn't want anyone getting in."

The door cracked, and an eerie green light gushed out of the wound, followed by a symphony of squishing and pulsing.

"Or out..." Murmured Joan, transfixed by the spectacle before her.

"You wanted to keep moving?" The Warlock's voice seemed cold and harsh.

"Yeah. We have to continue now. This really shouldn't be here, and we need to find out why." She felt ice in her spine.

She began into the darkness beyond the gap, and was secretly relieved to hear the Warlock's boots echoing behind her through the murk of the stairwell. It really got dark then. Her Ghost floated over her shoulder, and projected a light for her to see. The Warlock's didn't.

"Come on. Get your Ghost out," she said, and gazed into the dark void of his visor. A moment of cold silence passed before the Ghost flickered into existence above the Guardian's shoulder. They continued moving.

"Look," he grumbled. "Motion. Lots of it."

They were coming to the top of the staircase, her breath coming low and shallow. When she entered the open space with only a few feet in front of her illuminated, that's when she really became high strung. Faint clicking could be heard. A rustling. Then something moved in the dark. She fired without hesitation, the flash from her barrel illuminating the swarm of pale bodies. An air rending screech reverberated through the chamber, and then they were crowding on her. Suffocating her. Too close for guns. Her knife. She wrestled it free and began to slash. The thralls grasped at her, tore at her armor, her cloak, she could feel her shields straining, even giving way. She just kept working in a survival induced frenzy. Stab. Slash. Rip. Tear. Stab. Slash. Rip. Tear. Until they were nothing but dust.

There were still the screams of the thrall, the savage tearing, ripping noises, but it wasn't the hive making them. The Warlock roared, a battle cry to rival any, the hive breaking in his hands, their limbs splitting easily in his grip. Killing thrall hadn't been hard for Joan, but the Warlock made it look like an art. Like it was his calling. Then he was done, the thrall were gone, and he didn't look too good. Like a dead man walking. So maybe he wasn't as good as she'd thought.

"Woah, are you alright?" Asked Joan, running over to support the Warlock.

"Been better." he grunted.

"You look like a train wreck."

He did.

"Thanks," he answered wryly. "Just let me rest for a moment." He let out a long, pained sigh as she helped him sit, leaning his back against one of the concrete pillars.

"I wasn't expecting that," Joan muttered in between deep breaths. "The fuck are the Hive doing here?"

"Hive?"

"Yeah. The Thrall?"

The Warlock just shook his head.

"God, you're weird," she breathed out, and slumped against the pillar next to him, and they were quiet for a moment, the only sound was her breathing.

"So. What's with the fur?" The Warlock asked.

"Pardon me?"

"The fur. Why?"

"Oh. I, uh... I won it. In the Iron Banner."

"Iron Banner?"

"Yeah. It was an elimination round, and I was the last one. My team mates were.. Well they lied to me, said they were vets, but they went down easy in the first minute with all three of my opponents left. Luckily for me, I had my golden gun and picked them off one at a time. Lord Saladin was so pleased with my performance, he presented it to me himself."

"I don't even know why I ask..." The warlock grumbled and began to stand, scraping his way up the concrete wall. "Let's keep moving. I want to get out of this pit."

"I'm with you, there," said Joan, scrambling to her feet and mooving to brace the Warlock. at first he protested, but when he almost fell he silently surrendered.

They began to wade through the darkness, their eyes scanning the ever-thick gloom.

"So how about you? What's up with your bond?" she asked.

"Bond?"

"Yeah. You know, the thing warlocks wear on their upper arms."

He looked at his arm.

"I don't have one."

"Yeah, I know that. Why don't you?"

"I don't know. I'm not a warlock."

"You're not... What?" An incredulous tone entered her voice.

"I'm not a warlock."

"Light, you're weird."

"And you're not?"

Joan chuckled to herself at that. They were silent as they trudged forward.

"My name's Joan," she said.

"Oh." His reply was curt.

"Oh? What's yours?"

"Hmm..." he grumbled. "Calder."

"That's a nice name. It's-" she started, but he cut her off abruptly.

"The darkness seems to be dissipating." Calder mused, and his Ghost vanished quickly from its place over his shoulder. It was true, the thick murk that had once surrounded them was giving way to warmer lights, and Joan could even feel a faint draft tugging at her cloak.

"We must be nearing an exit!" She said excitedly, ducking out from under Calder's arm, causing him to stumble, and rushing forward in search of the exit. The place she came to was no different really from what had come before, but Joan skidded to a stop all the same. She knew that feeling, the feeling like your bones were frozen, like the air in your helmet was as thick as blood. A thin, sinewy shape uncoiled from behind the crates on the raised platform that took up most of the room, its leathery membranes fluttering as it rose into the air. It was then that Calder chose then to round the corner.

"Get back!" Joan shouted at him, the panic in her voice causing him to falter in his steps. She rushed him and pulled him around into cover as a salvo of scorching energy blasted the place where they had just been.

"What is that?" He asked, his voice strangely level.

"That wizard... It came from... the moon... " She breathed heavily, clutching her side and watching the wall across from them. "This is really bad. This must mean a fully-fledged assault. This could turn into a second Great Disaster, if things get out of hand..."

...

Calder didn't know what she was talking about, but it sounded bad. Bad enough that he didn't think he'd be getting out of there if that, what, Wizard? If that Wizard didn't get out of their way. He'd had enough. He ground his way up the rough concrete wall that was their shelter, and firmed his resolve. Joan looked to him, her body was shaking. That thing must be fucking terrifying. He turned the corner again and screamed a hoarse, coarse roar as he barreled towards his target, his gun completely forgotten, thrown to the side, all that existed was the Wizard. It spotted him. He thought it would. That was the point of the cry. He didn't plan for the next part though. Its emaciated form raised a frail arm. Pain lanced through him, and his limbs felt as heavy as lead. He felt his vision darkening, a miasma of shadow permeated his surroundings, like the one they'd just escaped from, but this time it felt concentrated. Pure. It leaked into his being and he began to shut down. Before it all went black he heard a desperate cry, a loud bang, and saw a flash of light as though the wizard was being lit from within by a ten-kiloton nuke.

…

Joan started as Calder groaned from the grainy dirt. The dry grass crunched against his robe.

"Oh. Good, you're up," she said.

"No. I'm still down." He grunted in pain from his resting position.

"Well what do you expect, rushing right into that Wizards trap like that. You might not have come back."

"Come back?"

"Oh, yeah. You died a bit back there. When I revived you, you were out cold, so I dragged you all the way out here. It sure is nice to see the sky again."

"A bit?"

"I hope you can find a way of thanking me for saving your ass. After all, it was one hell of a Golden Gun that blew that Wizard away. Oh, I've got it. My drinks are on _you_ tonight."

"Drinks?" Calder forced down the pain and scrambled to his feet, drinking in the rich oranges and golds that made up the sky around a dying sun. The warm, sad light painted the surroundings in a stark contrast. He'd never been so happy to see the light.

"You know," said Joan, standing beside him." The sunset actually makes this place look beautiful."

She was right. The Sun's burning rays seemed to bring the dead grasses to life, and the rust that covered each metal surface seemed sanguine, like a painting of blood. The visor on Calder's helmet was a deep pit of darkness. It consumed the light. Destroyed it. Joan shivered.

…

It was hard to hear anything over the loud bustling of the bar, but the faint sounds of pre-classical music played over the few beat up speakers scattered around the place. Soft strains of nearly lilting music created a warm atmosphere, musky and crowded, but Joan wasn't as crowded as the other patrons at the place. After all, being a Guardian meant you held some sway among the normal citizens of the Last City and it had landed her a small, dimly lit booth near the back where they wouldn't be so noticeable. At least for Guardians. Remaining unnoticed wasn't so hard for her. After all she didn't stand out in a crowd, that was certain, but she also had a way of slipping past people's vision, as though they really just didn't want to see her. Her companion was hard to miss though. He stood taller than most of the patrons at the bar, in fact almost brushing his head on the low hanging lights at the place. His manner didn't help either. Instead of slouching, or slyly slipping around the other patrons he seemed to part the sea of bodies around him. Wherever he went, people just happened to move out of the way, perhaps seeing an unexpected friend or moving to occupy the restrooms. Some even felt the sudden urge to find somewhere else to get their fill for the night.

Oh well. Joan supposed it couldn't be helped. Not with a face like his anyway. It had truly shocked her when he had removed his helmet to reveal a face plate the colour of blood and burning green eyes that flared in black pits. His jackal of a mouth grinned constantly, but he almost never laughed. A fissure like a scar ran down under his right eye. A poorly done weld stitched it together with a line of pale grey. Above his eyes a pair of black horns jutted from his skull. She could see him now, making his way back towards their table, his bright eyes piercing through the fine smoke like search beacons, swaying from side to side as he parted the crowd.

Joan had been surprised that he'd even agreed to come with her. But he'd mumbled something about "paying his debts" or something like it and she hadn't minded so long as he was buying.

"Hey!" She shouted over the sound of the noisy arguing couple sitting in the booth next to theirs. "What'd you get me?" He held two glasses in his hands. "Two? Oh, you're not trying to get me drunk, are you?"

He looked a little surprised at that. "I thought..." he started, but something seemed to occur to him and he settled for a simple "No." He seemed to deflate a little as he took his seat across from her, though that may have just been the need to contract in order for him to fit into the space. He handed a drink to her and placed the other one in the middle of the scarred wooden table top.

"What is it?" She asked.

"Dunno," he said. "I just asked for a drink. I didn't expect it to be so... blue." The drink was blue, bright blue in fact, and it smelled like the air before a storm, little fizzes bubbling to the top and sparking over the rim of the glass.

"Hmm... I think you got a good one." She smiled at him.

"Let me know."

She took a sip. The drink seemed to hop around in her mouth, and a sour, bittersweet taste shocked her tongue like licking a battery.

"I wasn't expecting _you_ to be so blue. You look like a Smurf," he said when she'd lowered her glass with a ghost of a smile on her lips.

"A what?" She asked, swallowing her mouthful. A pleasant warmth began to spread through her body. An almost tingling. She hissed through her teeth. Damn that _was_ a good drink.

"Why is that?" He asked. Her yellow eyes stared over her drink into his green.

"I'm Awoken. Not from the reef, my Ghost found me in the sea of storms. On the moon. I don't think I was Awoken before, but I don't know much about before. Anything really." He grunted at that. She took another sip before continuing, "so what's the deal with your scar?"

"Scar?" He asked, leaning back against the worn red cushions of the booth.

"You know," she said, tracing a line under her right eye with her finger.

"Oh..." He said then seemed to think for a minute. "I got it in a fight."

"Great. That's such a great story. You really know how to paint a picture." She took another sip from her glass.

He sighed a little. "It was a while back, I was out in the cosmo drome" the word was stiff in his mouth. "and I had been fighting a group of dregs. I'd just emptied my mag when the Captain came out of his cave and saw me. I didn't have time to properly reload, so I just dropped it and charged him."

"Like before the Skywatch." Joan went to take another drink from her glass, but it turned out is was a lot smaller than she'd thought. She set her glass down and snatched the other one up from off the table.

"Yeah, I guess, except this time I wasn't doing so well. I was newer to it. So, the Captain, he grabbed me and ripped my helmet off and grabbed my head and started to pull. He'd forced his... thumbs? He'd forced his thumbs into my eye holes and started to pull. The metal under my right eye gave way first." He stopped.

"Go on. I want to hear the end," she said, setting down her already half-empty cup. He eyed the cup apprehensively.

"You might want to slow down-"

"Just finish the story," she complained and moved to shelter her glass. Who was he to tell her how to drink. He'd never had a drink in his life.

He sighed dejectedly. "The Captain just put me down."

"What? He didn't try to kill you?"

"No. I guess it thought I was already damaged enough."

"Wow," she said, and with that downed the last of her second drink. It was a good story, but somehow it seemed just off. Fallen weren't known for their mercy. He watched her ruefully as she downed the last drop.

"I had to give that guy five coins for those," he grumbled.

"Coins?"

"Yeah. Is that not what you're supposed to use?" He asked confused pulling a strange looking coin from a pocket behind his back. It glinted a bit in the light.

"I've never seen them used. You must not really spend much time in the city, huh?" She commented as she snatched the coin from his grasp. It seemed to hum slightly, but she wasn't sure over the noise of the bar.

…

Joan didn't feel very steady. It was late she knew, most of the other patrons had gone home to sleep off the nights work. She knew she should have to too, but she didn't care, she was pissed. She just couldn't seem to win. There had been what? Twelve or fourteen rounds of arm-wrestling between her and her guest and each time he managed to beat her. It wasn't her fault of course, the table kept tilting and her elbow always slipped. Her hand smacked into the table another time. Calder, that was his name, right? Calder was looking off to the left somewhere. He sighed a bit.

"Aww come on!" She yelled. "I knew I had you that time!" He just muttered and shook his head ever so slightly. "Oh, you think you can beat me again? Go on then! Let's have another!"

"You know, when you're drunk you look nicely purple."

"What?"

"It was nothing. We should really go."

"Oh, come on, just one more!" She begged. He just sighed.

"Fine," he said eventually, placing his elbow on the table. She gripped his hand hard and began to push, but just like the last thirteen or fourteen times, her elbow just wouldn't stay where it was supposed to.

"Oh, dammit!" She yelled. "How're you so good at that?"

"I'm not. You've been doing all the work since the third round I think?" Her face flushed an even deeper purple at that.

"Oh." She squeaked.

"Come on. I think you've had enough for one night."

Joan tried getting to her feet, but she just couldn't manage to get her way out of the booth, the seats were too slippery. Calder, who had already begun to walk towards the exit paused for a moment, sighed, and turned back to help her up. She struggled ineffectually in his grip claiming "I got it" but it was immediately undercut when her foot slipped and she almost fell.

"Okay, I don't got it." She murmured quietly, and clung to Calder as he helped her out into the fresh, cool night air of the last city. It was surprisingly quiet outside, and only a few lights showed their path along the ram shackle streets and alleys of the city.

"Do you live down here?" He asked.

"No... I live in the Tower..." She mumbled into his shoulder. It was surprisingly soft.

"Alright then." He paused to look at a map of the surrounding section, D-16, then turned down a small side street.

"Where are we going?" She asked him.

"I'm taking you to a park so that you can transmat back to your ship."

"Oh. Thank you."

"Don't mention it. As soon as you're in your ship, I think your... Ghost... I think it can handle it from there."

It didn't take long to find the park, a wide strip of well-lit trees among a dark urban silhouette. As they walked down the leafy corridors Joan began to feel fuzzier than before. She was falling asleep. Calder gently layed her out on the smoothly paved walkway and took a few steps back.

"That should be good," he said. You can have your Ghost do its thing now.

There was a small flash and a humming. Everything sounded like it was coming from down a long tunnel.

"Goodbye" he said.

The last thing she saw was him pulling his helmet over his face and turning to look at her over his shoulder as he began to walk away.

When she woke up she wished she was dead.

* * *

 **Hey. Congratulations on making it t the end. I am aware that according to canon exos can eat and probably drink. I don't care. Calder can't. Also, I may or may not make a part two depending on whether or not I can think of any ideas. I would like to work with Calder and Joan again though.**


	3. The Array

**Chapter 3: The Array**

* * *

 **Alright. So, it has been a while since I've posted, but I hope that those of you who followed my story enjoy this addition, and as always be sure to point out any mistakes, errors, or something that just bugs you. I'll try and address it at some point. And, hey. If you don't have anything to criticize but just liked my story, that's fine with me. I'm just glad I can share this with someone. Anyone. It means a lot.**

* * *

It had been months since she'd last seen him, but there he was all the same. The warlock who had bought her drinks, Calder, was in the tower hangar speaking with Amanda Holiday. He was easy to recognize, no other guardian she knew was that tall and that beat up.

Of course, Joan stayed back. She wanted to know what he was doing in the tower after disappearing for three months after their encounter with the Wizard. She'd even thought he might have died for good, but apparently he'd only gotten a few more dints and scratches for his helmet. Still, she waited and watched from the top of the stairs to the Future Wat Cult's conclave, a strange feeling of tension building up in her stomach.

She started slowly down the stairs, sticking to cover, though casually so as to not attract attention, approaching Amanda's worktable on stealthy feet, and then froze. What was he doing? Calder had removed his helmet and was stripping off his torn-up coat to the waist, exposing a shredded crimson arm and a lightly gouged chest plate.

The wound was terrible. His right arm hung limply, a mess of free wires and jagged chassis. It reminded her of a tangle of veins and bloody torn flesh. Then he sat on the workbench and Amanda pulled out an assortment of tools and went to work on the shoulder. Repairs? Why did he need repairs? Why was he even damaged that badly? Did something happen to his Ghost?

A Future War Cult emissary walked briskly past her, his brightly coloured livery jolting her back to the present. She shook her head. She must have looked a fool crouching behind a pile of crates, peeking over the edge watching a Guardian get surgery from the shipwright. She looked back.

Calder was watching the procedure with seeming interest, probably trying to remember the process so he could fix himself up in a pinch, or maybe he was just curious as to how he worked. Still, he was distracted... An evil idea wormed its way into her mind.

A crawling, creeping step lead her through the noise of the hangar, disguising her footfalls in the clamour of Guardian ships being refuelled and repaired. She crept up behind her unwary prey and sucked in a deep breath. Amanda's eyes flicked over and locked on hers. The repairs stopped. Calder looked up, and, following Amanda's gaze, his piercing green eyes met her bright yellow. A flush crept over her face as she crouched low in the mess of the hangar.

"Need something Guardian?

Joan stood and coughed averting her eyes. "No, no. Not really. I actually came to speak to Calder," she said, straightening her back and looking into his eyes, though the flush still hadn't left her cheeks.

"Oh, you know his name?" Said the shipwright with a laugh. "I still haven't managed to get him to cough it up. I mean he's practically in here every day, but..."

"Every day?"

"Yeah. I swear, he must be made of tinfoil the way he-"

"What is it you want Joan?" Calder cut in with an exasperated tone. "I'm busy."

She stared at him disbelievingly. "Busy, huh? Have you been _busy_ the last three months?" She asked him.

"Three months?"

"Yeah, you know, the three months since you left me laying drunk in some park and haven't spoken a word to me since!"

"I'm sorry, he did what?" Asked Amanda.

"Yeah! He just left me there! Not a thought in the world, just left me there. Anything could have happened." In truth, Cal had left her in the care of her ghost, and she was a guardian. It wasn't likely that anything _could_ happen to her, not really.

"Is that how you treat a woman Cal?" Said Amanda, and turned to him with an incredulous look.

"I didn't want to impose." He ground out the words slowly. His eyes had dimmed, and his mouth had narrowed to a thin slit.

"Huh," said Amanda with a shake of her head. "Well, I can see that you two have things you need to discuss, so," and with that she popped Cal's arm out of its socket. "Why don't you go do that." And walked off with it.

"Amanda..." She didn't turn around. "Amanda! I need that Amanda! That's my arm!" Cal called after her.

"Tough!" She yelled back and walked down a flight of stairs into the frame repair centre.

Calder watched her descend into the depths, a mournful look in his eyes.

"…So, we could go get a drink and talk..." Proposed Joan quietly.

"No. No drinks this time. You could barely walk the last time we got drinks."

"Hey! Be fair, you did choose them. A lot of them."

"You seemed to like them well enough."

"… Well, we could go to this spicy ramen place I know."

Calder looked at her incredulously. "That's the best place you could think of to talk?"

"Well, we could do my place-"

"No."

"Come on, it'll be fine. The stuff they have there is top notch."

"I bet it is." Calder grumbled as he stepped off of his impromptu operating table and tried to pull his coat back on with his one arm. He wasn't doing well.

"Here, I'll help you with that," Joan said, reaching to lift the coat over his shoulders.

"I'm fine," he said, but put up little fight as she pulled his coat together and fastened its front. Then he watched as she took his sleeve and tucked it out of the way into his belt.

"That should do it. This way," she said, and turned in a small flurry of fur to walk off towards the main plaza. Calder followed her, his long stride catching up, and almost outpacing her as they walked through the hall leading to the Tower hangar.

"Hey, slow down a bit," Joan chided. "We're not in a rush, just relax. It'll probably be a while till Amanda is finished with your arm."

Calder slowed his pace a little.

They entered the atrium of the tower, the bright sun gleamed off of the Traveller and it warmed Joan nicely through her fur. A little too nicely, so she peeled off her cloak and hung it through the loop of her arm. Calder flitted his gaze to her and back forward.

"I'll hold that for you," He said.

"What? Don't be an idiot, you've only got one arm."

"Yeah, but if _I_ hold it, it won't trail on the ground."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess you're right," she said and looked away, towards the slumbering god. The sunlight glinted off of hair so dark you could barely see the purple. She handed him the cloak. It took a little juggling, but he managed to roughly settle it in the same position she'd had in the crook of his remaining arm.

"Are we going to go past the Speaker's tower?" He asked quietly as they reached the other side of the courtyard.

"Yeah, the place is just through the door across from it."

"Oh." Calder's voice was distant. Remote. We walked on auto pilot.

Then he stepped in a puddle and froze. He looked down. Staring back up at him were two emerald points. He stood transfixed. Then a foot obliterated the image and he snapped back to reality.

"You alright there?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine..." He didn't look fine though. He looked hurt, as hurt as an exo could, and, well, he was missing an arm. It wasn't long now anyway, just through these doors, and...

"Okay, here we are," she said as they reached the ramen place. It wasn't really a shop, more of a stall, but to Joan it was paradise as she parted the small cloth curtains and entered, letting the scent of exotic spice and the humid air wash over her. It was warm too. She was glad she wasn't wearing her cloak.

"Do they have any booths?" Calder asked, looking a little chagrined.

"No, not here. The place is too small, but the counter should do just fine." She took her seat at the tall stool. It irked her that her toes couldn't quite reach the floor, but the seats were tall and she wasn't. He took a seat next to her, gently setting her cloak on the stool next to his while Joan ordered and Calder waited patiently. "Oh, man this stuff is so great," she practically moaned into her bowl when it was delivered.

"Yeah, I bet."

"You should try it," she said.

"I really don't think I can."

"Hmm." She said, slurping up a few noodles.

"So… you wanted to talk?" Calder asked.

She took a breath. "I just wanted to know you were still alive, still doing alright. I mean, I'm sure you think you can handle yourself, but I've seen you shoot."

"I can't die."

"So, then why were you at Amanda's workbench?" she asked gently. "Did something happen to your Ghost?"

No, no… it's… busy… repairing my ship." He was obviously lying. Something was wrong. Still, if he didn't want to talk about it, then she wasn't going to press him.

"Well, then I guess you must have some stories to tell," she said. It might be better to go down a different route. "How did it happen anyway, your arm?" she asked him.

"This? Oh it was nothing. I just, got a little carried away. There was an array… I was helping to get it running, but a bunch of those thrall things came and tried to stop me. Didn't work, but they did force me back."

"Wait," Joan said, disbelief hedging into her voice. "You were part of the fireteam who tried to raise the array? But I heard they'd all died. Lost their Ghosts…"

"Oh, them… No, I wasn't part of their crew, but I was nearby and they asked for help, so… Guess I didn't help that much after all." He frowned at this, as much as his jagged mouth could frown.

"I'm sorry. It must be hard."

"If you say so." He looked down at this.

"… I know what we're going to do."

"Huh?"

…

They were trekking through the dark ruins of the Skywatch once again, crumbling concrete grinding under their boots. Joan followed Calder through the gutted ruins, its new organs pulsing and emitting a sickly green light as they trudged through the hive breeding ground.

"It was this way," said Cal, his robotic voice grumbling in a barely perceptible tone. He rubbed his temporary replacement. He still didn't understand why they couldn't wait until Amanda had finished with it, and now he was stuck with this stupid frame's arm. It was barely functional, moving without the finesse and grace of an Exo' limb.

"Huh," said Joan. "This place brings back memories."

"… I honestly don't remember much from our first time here," he said, but the pause he gave as he passed through the place where he'd died gave the lie to his words. "We're going to have to fight up ahead. It's not too bad though, the Hive are spilling out onto the surface, keeping the Fallen busy. Should soften them up a bit."

"Alright. Good to know. Just, promise me this."

"What?"

"The next time we see a Wizard, don't just rush it without a plan. I don't want to have to save your ass again, alright?"

"Don't worry about that. I've had plenty of time to practice with them."

They left the mouth of the Skywatch to see a brawl between the ranks of Fallen and swarms of Hive. The Hive were coming from a crashed hive Seeder Ship. That was not good. Really bad, in fact. Joan would have to tell the vanguard about it at some point.

While the Hive definitely had the advantage of numbers, the Fallen were crafty fighters, and they knew where to hit the thrall for a quick kill. This might get interesting.

"Let's just wait this one out," said Calder, clambering onto the low roof of a deserted building. He reached down to help Joan up, and she gingerly accepted his outstretched hand, wary of the sturdiness of his temporary limb. Cal grunted lightly as he pulled her up, and they turned to watch the scuffle a little longer, Joan leaning back against some box that may once have served a purpose but was now no more than a rusted husk.

"I bet you a hundred glimmer that the Hive will win."

Joan scoffed at this. "No way, the Fallen may be outnumbered, but if fighting for the Traveller has taught me anything," she said, "it's that skill dictates the outcome of a fight, not numbers."

"You sure it's not your space magic?" Cal said wryly.

"It helps," she said with a smile.

They only waited a moment longer, and, as Joan had predicted, the fallen had come out of the struggle victorious.

"Well, to the victor goes the spoils," said Joan smugly.

"Here. Don't spend it all on drink."

"Oh, I would never. I have you to buy them for me."

"Ha-ha, very funny. Come on. Let's get going. This array isn't going to raise itself."

"I'm with you there," she said as she hopped down from their impromptu viewing stand, Cal following her with a significant thud and cloud of dust. "Truly, thou hast the grace of a dancer and the poise of a cat's shadow."

"And thee, of a dead whale."

"What's a whale?"

He gave her a disbelieving look at this and said, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

It was then the fallen noticed them. A quick firefight ensued, but the weakened Fallen stood no chance against the Guardians, quickly retreating to live for another fight. They moved on, entering a new complex, this one was similar to the last, and very quiet. There were signs of fights past, bullet holes, the odd blood stain, but all the bodies had been moved. The Fallen scavers must have picked it clean.

"Well, this is the place. Be ready for anything," said Calder, fidgeting a bit with the safety on his gun. His frame arm jittered.

"Hey. It's going to be fine. We're going to avenge our fallen, and we're going to bring that array back online. Okay?" She said, placing her hand on his arm. He seemed to settle.

"…Yes… Yes, you're right."

They stepped out into an open plaza. It was strangely quiet.

"I thought there were Hive here," Joan said quietly, taking cautious steps forwards, hesitant to break the expectant silence.

"There should be. There were last time."

"Then we need to be careful."

They advanced, the only sounds the scraping of their boots on the concrete pavement and the wind.

"Nothing on the motion tracker," observed Joan.

"I never trust that thing… Hold on…" he said.

"What is it?"

"I could swear I just saw something move. Maybe I was just imagining it."

"You're never imagining it," she said as she pulled out and tossed a grenade into the mouth of the open facility. It bounced once, then split into countless small projectiles. Each finding a hidden target. The Fallen Vandals screamed as they were killed, their stealth fields deactivating.

"Huh. Guess you were right."

"Always am." As she said this, a glint of movement showed on her tracker. "Hey. Big guy," She said as a Fallen captain strolled into view.

"I'll get this one. Watch my back," stated Cal. He raised his rifle and unloaded, casings pinging against the floor. The mag emptied as the Captain's shield died. With a roar of rage it rushed him, but Cal managed to roll under the Captain's first swing, flinging his rifle to the side and pulling out a solid, if worn, shotgun. The second one gave him a glancing blow to the head as he recovered from his roll, adding another scratch to the already impressive collection. He allowed the force from the hit to spin him around, and his shotgun answered the blade to deadly effect. The Captain's soul exploded from the hole that used to be its head.

He pumped the shotgun, ejecting a used shell, then stowed in on his back. He retrieved his gun, sliding a new clip into it and loading the new round into the chamber with a satisfying click. He then proceeded onwards.

"The control terminal should be over here."

"Cool."

As they approached, Calder pushed an ancient skeleton off the console controls, its bones shattering to dust. "Do you know how this thing works?"

"Ghost will," she said, and a flash of light followed, signifying the arrival of the small machine. "Come on. Get yours out too. It'll go faster." This would be a good time to find out the truth about his Ghost.

"Hrm… Fine." He raised his hand and his Ghost appeared with a flash of light. It shakily trundled towards the computer, getting to work with her own on returning the operating system to working order. Cal stalked off to the opening, watching for any more Vandals they may have missed.

Joan turned to her Ghost. "Hey, I want you to talk to his Ghost, see if you can learn something about him."

"You may want to get a look at this," Cal called back towards her as a loud screeching of long dormant systems and machinery began to come back online. She hurried over.

"Wow. That's impressive," she said. The evening light filtering through the array cast lined shadows over the open plaza.

Then a new screeching filled the air. Black pits opened in the air. A noxious smell spilled forth from the holes in reality.

"Shit. Hive Tombships. They're coming Calder."

"We can handle this," he said.

A new scream was heard, and hordes of thrall rushed towards them. The two Guardians held their ground, the rounds from their guns tearing through the paper thin flesh of the approaching swarm. Only a few made it through, but they were easily dispatched by heavy shotgun blasts.

"There's more coming," said Joan, pointing to the black pits. Sure enough, a new wave of Hive ships approached through the portals, a bone-chilling screech the fanfare of their arrival. "Ghost!" she called. "How long do we have?"

"A lot longer. It's not easy to resurrect a machine like this."

"Then we've just got to keep fighting," Calder said, the dark void of his helm staring emotionlessly towards their approaching foes. "Looks like Knights." There were five of them, and they had squads of two or three Thrall, and perhaps a couple Acolytes.

"Great. I'll handle them, you take out their escorts."

"It's a plan."

With that Joan pulled a high powered rifle from her back and began to move back. A second later and a deafening crack announced the death of one of the lead Knights. Then there was another. And another.

Three Knights fell in quick succession, and their followers were dispatched by old rifle fire amidst the confusion. Some managed to make it to cover, but as they peered around the corners they were met with a face full of hot lead.

One of the Knights realized what had lain waste to its allies and a rocky barrier formed in front of it. One of Joan's shots careened off the surface and tore a hole through one of the Knight's unlucky followers.

"Cal! They can't move with the shield up! Go get him!"

With that Cal abandoned his position in the mouth of the facility and rushed forwards, pulling his shotgun from his back. A few of the acolytes tried to shoot him, but they were destroyed by high density rounds. With a cry, he leapt around the barrier only to have the knight release it and slam him in the gut. He dropped his gun as he was flung against one of the support beams by the [doors]. Red tendrils of power circled the Knight as he rushed forwards to eviscerate the stunned warlock.

Cal desperately tried to grab for something, anything to save him. His hands closed on a rock. Great. He raised his arm to defend himself, but it was torn away in a flurry of twisted metal and sparks. With a roar of rage, the Knight lifted his cleaver high above his head… and then his head exploded into small chitinous fragments. Cal looked to his left, surprised to be in almost one piece, to hear Joan call, "I guess you're buying me drinks again, huh?"

"I guess so." He slowly gained his feet, using the Knight's sword as a can to help regain his balance. He muttered to himself, "I goddamn knew that arm would betray me." He shuffled towards the inside of the building, never paying mind to the bars of shadow that now flooded the courtyard. "So. Did we get it running?"

"Take a look for yourself." Joan gestured behind him. He turned around. The evening light filtered through the array. Joan stepped up next to him. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Cal remained silent.

She slipped her hand in his. He hesitated for a moment, almost pulling away.

"It is."

His hand was cold.


End file.
